The Visit
by cactusnell
Summary: Mycroft pays Sherlock a visit to discuss love, sentiment, and mistakes. Incipient Sherlolly and Mythea


The sleek black car pulled up in front of 221 B Baker Street with a single occupant in the back seat. Mycroft Holmes was, on most occasions, accompanied by his personal assistant, Anthea, but this evening he had something of an extremely personal matter with which to deal, and since this matter involved his admitting to an error in judgement, something which he was always loathe to do, he neither required nor desired witnesses. Outside of his Sherlock, that is. Mycroft opened the car door, and began his slow climb up the stairs to his brother's flat, determined to settle the matter once and for all.

Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, heard his brother's slow footsteps on the stairs, and wondered to himself once again about the reason behind his visit. The brothers were close, and not close, at the same time. Childhood behaviors had carried over into their adult lives. Mycroft, being the elder, tried to run his brother's life into into their middle-age. Sherlock dealt with this by rebelling, sometimes childishly. His earlier retreat into the world of drug abuse had only made the elder Holmes even more protective, and overbearing. But Mycroft was the only human being who Sherlock Holmes would acknowledge as his intellectual superior, and this made his influence on his younger brother even more pronounced.

Mrs. Hudson had placed the tea service in front of the brothers, and quietly taken her leave, sensing that she was not to be privy to the ensuing conversation.

"So, brother mine, to what do I owe this visit?"

"Sherlock, I feel that I may have done you a disservice…"

"Only one?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I am sure that you hold me responsible for many of your, shall we say, unfortunate choices, Sherlock. But I am speaking of one particular piece of advice, or even attitude which I may have nurtured in you, which I have come to regret recently."

"And this would be, brother?"

"I have recently come to believe that sentiment is not the disadvantage which I believed it to be, and, subsequently, may have led you to believe."

Sherlock looked at his brother with some interest. This was not at all what he had expected. Not at all. Is the Ice Man melting after all these years?

"Quite a revelation, brother, after all this time."

"I have begun to feel quite guilty, Sherlock. I know I have expounded on the topic since our days at public school. Those years were difficult for me, so I could only imagine how difficult they might have been for you. Detachment. The art of uncaring. That is what I perceived to be our best defense. A shield. But I have discovered that a shield can also be a wall, keeping out all that is good along with that which may be harmful. It is no way to live, and I regret fostering this attitude in you, as well as myself."

"What about you declaration that love was a chemical defect found on the losing side?"

"That was very glib, wasn't it? " Mycroft sighed. "Well, I may have been misspoke. It is, indeed, a chemical reaction, but calling it a defect is rather subjective, don't you think? It is a reaction found on both the winning and losing side. It is unavoidable in a number of circumstances. It is how we deal with it which can lead it to being a disadvantage, or even an advantage. Mummy and Dad are certainly awash in sentiment, and I would not venture to call either of them losers! Sentiment, although it cost you two years of your life, certainly saved the lives of your friends."

"If you already believe that I have indulged in such bouts of sentiment, Mycroft, what brings you here this evening?"

"To apologize for inculcating in you my own false attitudes. And to ask you a question."

"A question?"

"Yes, Sherlock. Are you happy? Are you happy with the circle of friends you have cultivated? Do they help you to feel your belong in this world? Are a part of something greater than yourself?"

Sherlock thought for a long moment before answering his brother. His first thought was to be to pass his questions off with a snarky remark, but somehow he sensed that to do so would be a disservice. To both of them.

"Yes, Mycroft. All of the above!"

"Next question, Sherlock. Is it enough?"

"What are you getting at, Mycroft?"

"You know exactly to what I refer, brother. Is a circle of friends, merely friends, enough to make you happy? Because I have decided that, in my case, it is not. And I have come to realize that there is a person, who has been right in front of me for years, who can make me happy. Who will, indeed, be enough for me. And I have no intention of risking my happiness any more than I already have."

"Anthea?"

"Of course. Who else has put up with me for all this time? Who else tolerates my insults and smiles at my foibles? Who else knows what I need, or want, before I do?" Mycroft put down his teacup and rose from his chair. "Perhaps these characteristics are familiar to you, Sherlock? They certainly should be!"

"Perhaps, Mycroft," Sherlock looked his brother in the eye, and spoke quietly.

"In any case, being the more intelligent of the two of us, it is not surprising that I have come to this conclusion before you, Sherlock! However, I am willing to acquiesce to a tie at the finish line. I am on my way to Anthea's flat to declare myself. I deduce that the outcome will be to my advantage. My driver already has Dr. Hooper's address. May I offer you a lift?"

Sherlock Holmes, never one to let his brother succeed where he has failed, grabbed his Belstaff coat from its hook by the door, and followed his elder brother out of the flat.

"Thank you, brother. That will do nicely!"


End file.
